No Matter What
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: Sam struggles with the reality of being forced to face Lucifer - yet again - and Dean does everything he can to help his little brother through the terror of it all. Tag to 12x23 "All Along the Watchtower"


Note: I had to write this because I couldn't figure out how it didn't happen in the episode.

This takes place in 12x23 - _All Along the Watchtower,_ directly after Lucifer hangs up the phone (when the brothers and Mary are around the table in the bunker).

This fic also has a slight tag to one of my other fics "Holding Cell" but the connection is brief and no necessary to comprehending this episode tag.

* * *

The devil ended the call, and Sam followed shortly.

Stillness filled the bunker, as Dean stared absently at the tabletop and the surveillance pictures spread across it. His mind was spinning as he struggled to digest the idea that they had to come up with a way to defeat Lucifer. Again.

How many times were they going to have to go head-to-head with that bastard? And when would their luck finally run out?

A clatter shattered the dense silence and snapped Dean's swirling thoughts back into order. The older man looked over to see Sam's phone resting on the ground, which explained the noise that had echoed through the muted bunker. He dragged his gaze up in time to see his brother's tall frame stumble from the room.

"Sam?" Mary called out, rising to her feet.

Dean held his hand up to his mother, offering a sympathetic glance before giving her a terse instruction.

"Give us a minute."

It wasn't a request, but the female hunter had the grace to take it as such, and reluctantly nodded her head.

Dean booked it around the same corner he had seen Sam disappear behind, searching rapidly around every bend for his little brother.

"Sam!" He hollered, his fear rising with each second the younger man was out of his sight. He was already inhaling the deep breath he would need to shout out once more, when he turned into the corridor where Sam was located.

"Sammy." He sighed in both relief and concern, upon noticing how the taller man was holding onto the wall, as though the concrete structure was offering him more support than either of his giraffe-legs. Dean sprinted down the hall, his gaze absorbing more worrisome evidence as he approached his little brother.

Sam's entire frame was trembling, his legs shaking as his knees threatened to buckle and his arms vibrating as they pressed into the wall at his back. The kid was quaking like a live-wire. Dean could also hear the youngest Winchester's breaths rushing in and out of his lungs in shallow, rapid pants.

"Sammy, what's wrong? What's going on?" He questioned as he came to a stop before Sam, reaching out and gripping the broad shoulders. It wasn't until that physical connection was planted, that the shaggy head rose from where it had been bent and a pair of wild hazel eyes snapped up to meet anxious green ones.

Sam's expressive gaze assaulted Dean's soul as the older man played witness to the sheer terror that reigned within the impossibly wide orbs.

"Dean. Dean, I can't – I can't. Please. I can't." Sam choked out, his chest heaving as though there wasn't enough air left on the planet.

"You can't what, Sam?" Dean inquired, his hands sliding from the bony shoulders to the stuttering chest, one of his calloused palms resting over his little brother's erratic heartbeat.

"Can- can't do it, De. Can't do it – seeing and hearing – I can't. Please." Even through the staccato breaths and intermittent gasping sobs, the desperation and horror rang clearly through Sam's tone.

"What are you talking about, kiddo? Can't do what? Sam- Sammy! Just take a breath for me, buddy. Alright? Just get some air." Dean encouraged, fearful of the young man hyperventilating right before his eyes.

Sam gave a quick nod, but before he could follow orders and attempt his next breath, his legs gave out and his spine grated down the wall as he slid to the floor.

"Whoah, whoah. Easy, Sam. Take it easy." Dean muttered, slowing the tall frame's decent and propping Sam up against the concrete at his back. He squatted between the gangly legs haphazardly stretched out in front of the trembling body. One of his calloused hands remained splayed over Sam's drumming heart, while the other searched for the younger man's quivering fingers and pulled them to rest against his own chest.

Sam's long digits attempted to latch on to Dean's shirt, but his brother forced them to remain flush with his chest.

"Breathe with me, Sammy." He declared, sucking in a deep inhalation and holding it for several seconds before releasing it; all the while keeping Sam's long appendages against him, so the kid could feel the steady rise and fall of the older man's chest. Dean repeated the process, hoping that his little brother would mimic it. "Feel that?" He questioned after the encore.

Sam gave a shaky nod, his fingers pressing into his brother's shirt as he visibly fought to imitate the older man. He drew in a strangled breath and managed to hold it for a fraction of the time, before its whistled release.

"Can't." He rasped, panicking as he felt he was being starved for air, for the second time in a short while.

"You can." Dean declared with all the confidence in the world, holding his brother's gaze and doing his best to silently display the faith and the confidence he had in his kid, for the second time in a short while. He repeated the simple process again, waiting patiently for Sam to do the same.

His little brother didn't disappoint. His bony fingers twitched against Dean's chest as he fought for a deep breath. They went four more rounds before Sam managed to level out his breathing, but the shaking never dissipated.

Dean was thankful that he had left Mary in the other room. Sam would never allow himself to fall apart in front of her. He would have forced himself to be strong and swallowed back all his weakness, because Sam never allowed himself to break in front of anybody, no matter how badly he needed to.

Dean had never stopped being thankful that he had always been the exception to that rule.

"Talk to me, Sammy." Dean pleaded gruffly, allowing his brother's fingers to ball up the fabric of his shirt, as they clenched and tugged the older man minimally forward.

"I can't do it again, Dean." Sam announced, his voice small and broken.

"Can't do what, kiddo? Fight? What happened to that big speech of yours?"

The shaggy head was moving side-to-side before Dean had even completed his inquiry.

"Fight _him_." Sam rasped.

That was the moment it all dawned on Dean, and he cursed himself for being so fucking slow on the uptake.

Of course Sam would be a mess, of course he would be having a goddamn panic attack. The devil had returned and was being thrown in the kid's face for the hundredth bloody time. Sam was being forced to relive the horrors of more than a century of torture. Again.

"Every time I see him, every time I _hear_ him, I'm back there. I'm back in the cage. With him. And he's there destroying me. He's ripping me apart and then stapling me back together, just so he can unmake me again and again." Sam swallowed thickly, tears glistening in his eyes as he proceeded. "The things he did to me, Dean. The things he did to me for the _fun_ of it. And then to have to face him _again_ and have him talk to me and-and touch me. I just- I can't. I'm sorry." Sam sobbed, dropping his chin to his chest, his shoulders quaking.

"Awe, Sammy. No." Dean sighed, his heart aching as he watched his kid brother shattering on the floor in front of him.

Sam tried to curl up against the wall, but Dean pressured his knees back down, not allowing his kid to hide from him in shame. He never wanted his brother to pull away from him, and he sure as shit didn't want Sam ducking away out of a sense of shame that he had no reason to ever feel.

"Look at me, Sam." Dean ordered gently. His little brother shook his head, another sob escaping his lips as his right hand moving up to cover his face, while his left remained clenched in Dean's shirt.

The older man's chest tightened, as he moved closer and slid his arms around Sam's back, pulling the hurting boy towards him.

"C'mere, little brother. C'mere." He cooed gruffly.

That was all the encouragement Sam needed to fall forward and fold himself into his brother's arms. Dean felt his own eyes fill as he held the thin shuddering body, and felt Sam's choked cries and sniffles against his neck.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sam. Nothing." Dean declared vehemently, his hold of the youngest Winchester becoming impossibly tighter. "What he did to you, for all those years, you don't just get over that. You don't have to be okay, kiddo. No one would be. You're so fucking brave, little brother. Sometimes I forget just how much you went through, because you deal with it so much better than me or anyone else ever could. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"S'okay, De." Sam insisted, patting his older brother's chest, as he turned his head even further in to the crook of Dean's neck.

"It's not. It never will be. But it won't happen again, Sammy. I promise you." Dean vowed.

He didn't now how he had allowed it to happen. How had he disregarded the trauma his kid brother had experienced at the hands of that bastard, by not predicting or preventing Sam's reaction to having that sonuvabtich waltz back into their lives? He didn't know all of what Sam had suffered in the cage, but he knew enough, he had learned enough between the younger man's murmured hallucinations after the wall fell and through his countless nightmares, to know that Sam had been through a hell that Dean couldn't even imagine; which was saying a lot, considering the older man had several decades of hell under his belt.

Dean also knew that no amount of time could repair the damage done by that level of trauma. If he hadn't had enough common sense to know that, Sam's reoccurring night-terrors would have taught him as much.

The cage had haunted Sam's dreams on too many occasions to count. Sam had been a mess of memories and hallucinations after his wall fell, but even after Cas fixed him, the nightmares remained. They had been blindingly present one night when the brothers had gotten in a row with a pack of bikers in a bar and spent the night in lock-up. On occasion they would go dormant, but never for long. They had disappeared for awhile, only to return with a vengeance after Sam completed the second trial. They had assaulted Sam every night for weeks after he got trapped with Lucifer, again, when they were trying to defeat the Darkness. The memories dominated the younger man's sleep after the damn devil had been in the fucking bunker hashing things out with his father – Sam hadn't been able to sleep for weeks after that shit went down. Dean had hated it. The bunker was their _home_ it was the one place the kid was supposed to feel safe, but after the asshat who did unspeakable things to him had been inside it and all over it – wearing either Cas' face or his own - Sam's security had been stolen. Naturally, Dean had restored it as swiftly as he could, but it still hadn't been fair. After and during their time in solitary, Sam suffered through nightmares of the cage once again, for obvious reasons.

And if that wasn't enough.

If over a century of unprecedented agony wasn't enough.

If months of hell-inspired hallucinations weren't enough.

If more than half a decade of constant panic attacks and terror inducing nightmares weren't enough.

If unrelenting Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder wasn't fucking enough.

Now Sam was being forced to face his tormentor, again.

He was being forced to fight the scumbag that put him through the most terrible things in his life, the most terrible things in the universe.

He was being forced, _again_ , to stand up against his captor, abuser, slaughterer, and executioner.

And Dean wasn't fucking having it.

Not this time.

He pulled back from the embrace, his palm beneath his little brother's hair, as his other hand returned to Sam's chest. He allowed the disengagement, but did not release the death-grip his fingers had formed in Dean's button-up shirt.

"Sam." He called, waiting for his brother to lift his hanging head, which Sam did not.

Dean palmed the side of the younger man's face and raised his downward gaze, before returning his hand to the nape of his brother's neck. The hazel eyes were a fraction less terrified than they had been a matter of minutes ago, but only a fraction.

He still looked scared.

And so damn young.

"Don't ever be sorry. Not for what happened. Not for what you're feeling. Not for how your dealing. Don't be sorry or ashamed of any of it. Ever. You got that?" Dean declared, passionately.

Sam quirked a half a sad smile and nodded.

Dean was sure the kid was simply humouring him, but he would take what he could get for now.

"Sam."

He wasn't sure if it was the weight that snuck into his tone or the way his fingers clenched around his little brother's neck, but either way, Sam's dimples disappeared and his brow furrowed as he looked at the older man.

"I got this one."

The lines on the younger face deepened, as Sam canted his head to the side.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you tapping out and letting me take this one." Dean explained.

Sam was shaking his head so hard, Dean was worried he would snap it right off his neck.

"C'mon, Sam. You did it for me." At his brother's questioning look, the older hunter proceeded. "You took on those British douchebags. You let me tap out."

"That's different. You were hurt." Sam stated in a husky voice.

A soft smile tugged at Dean's lips. His little brother was forever defending him and absolving him of any and all guilt. What the hell would Dean ever do without his kid? The thought alone threatened to fracture him, so he quickly pushed it from his mind.

"A bum leg has nothing on the pain you're feeling right now, little brother." Dean proclaimed, and before Sam could make the objection the older man could see forming on his lips, Den continued. "You tackled one problem, let me take care of this one."

The shaggy head made a silent objection, pulling an exasperated sigh from the other brother.

"Sam—

"It's _Lucifer_ , Dean." The reminder was low, but vigorous.

The shorter man nodded. "I know, Sam. And he's not going to go without a fight, but you don't have to be the one to take him down, not this time. You've done enough, Sammy. Let me take this one." Dean appealed. Because Sam had down enough. The kid had done more than enough.

More than enough for the hunt.

More than enough for the world.

More than enough for Dean.

Sammy didn't need to do anymore.

He didn't need to sacrifice or give anymore.

He had done **enough**.

"I'm not leaving you." The younger man declared.

"I'm not going to be alone, dude. I've got lots of help, Mom—

"I'm not leaving you, Dean." Sam decreed once more, his tone forceful as his fingers tightened and tugged on his brother's shirt for emphasis.

Dean huffed, but didn't bother attempting an argument. He knew that glint in Sam's eyes – he had seen it countless time before - and he knew that he was no match for it. Sam was stubborn on the best of days, but when he was out to protect his big brother, he was entirely unyielding; something that equally frustrated and comforted Dean.

"Fine. But he's not laying a fucking finger on you." Dean bit out.

"Don't…" Sam trailed off, biting down on his bottom lip.

Dean inched closer, softening his voice.

"Don't what, buddy?"

"Don't say things like that. Don't make promises you can't keep. I know you mean well but that- that just makes it worse when…when it happens." Sam whispered, fear and pain lacing his hushed words.

"You won't need to worry about that, little brother. Because it's not going to happen. I won't let it. Not again."

"Dean—

"I'm serious."

It was either Dean's volume or his words that silenced Sam, perhaps both, but either way his lips formed a firm line as his large puppy-dog eyes stared up at his big brother.

"Whatever plan we concoct to take down this sonuvabitch, it isn't going to involve any physical contact between you and the devil."

"Dean, you can't—

"I mean it, Sam. I'm not going to let Lucifer lay a finger on you."

The younger man appeared unsure. Dean could see in the hazel gaze how desperately his little brother wanted to believe him, but he could also see his reluctance to do so. He knew that it had nothing to do with Sam's lack of faith in his big brother. Dean had known his entire life that his kid had always had complete and absolute faith in him, regardless of how undeserving he may have been of it at times. No, Sam was afraid to believe the elder hunter's statement, because it seemed to good to be true. He wanted to be ready for the worst, but he didn't need to be, because his big brother was going to protect him.

Because that's what Dean did.

He did everything to protect his kid.

"I promise you, Sammy."

Sam eyed Dean for another moment, before nodding in response.

"Okay, Dean." He agreed, sounding both timid and grateful.

"And if you ever need to step back from this, if it becomes too much, you just tell me."

"I'll be alright, Dean. I can do it." Sam announced with conviction, his voice never wavering, though a shadow of fear remained present within his hazel orbs.

"That's my boy." Dean praised with a grin, supportively squeezing the back of his brother's neck and patting his chest.

Sam beamed up at his big brother, his smile causing the lines of panic and terror to fade.

Dean relished at the sight.

He never felt better about himself than in the moments when he was able to provide his kid with peace, security, and joy.

They were the moments he felt as though perhaps he hadn't completely failed his baby brother.

The moments he felt like Sam was finally receiving a fraction of what he deserved.

Because the kid deserved all the peace, security, and joy that the world had to offer.

Sam deserved everything.

Dean's little brother was so fucking brave.

He was willing to face against to the conductor of his night-terrors.

He was willing to stand the orchestrator of his trauma.

He was willing to fight fucking Satan, _again_.

And he was doing it all for everyone else.

For the world.

For the family.

For his big brother.

Sam was going up against the monster who had left irreparable scars on his soul.

He was swallowing the panic, fear, desperation, and terror that had just left him crumpled on the floor.

He was putting himself through hell to fight alongside his big brother.

The _least_ Dean could do, was keep the devil's hands off Sammy.

Dean was going to do everything possible to protect his little brother.

He was going to take care of his kid.

And not just because Sam deserved it (though he sure as shit did).

And not just because Dean made a promise.

But because that was what they did.

Sam and Dean took care of each other.

They always had and they always would.

Regardless of who came and went from their lives.

Regardless of what they were up against.

Regardless of their trials.

Regardless of their grief.

Regardless of their pain.

The brothers stood by one another.

No matter what.

* * *

Note: This was originally supposed to be a 500 word fic...but then I remembered who I am as a human being, I have never written anything that short EVER. Anyways, I hope some of you enjoyed it. I'm not sure if anyone needed this scene as much as I did, but either way I hope you appreciate it! I hope the spelling isn't too terrible, but it is 5am and I wanted to post this quick before I went to bed, so I didn't edit too intensely. Thank you for reading and please comment/review if you have a quick second! I am trying my best to reply to those as well! You can also message me or contact me on my tumblr if you have an questions or anything. Thanks again! - Sam


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